“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he keeps repeating. “If I’d known about that, that . . .”
He looks at Amu, not wanting to use profanity in front of him.
“Monster?” I say, still in Mom’s hug.
“Monster, yeah.” Muhammad turns away, his voice quieting.
I reach an arm to him. But I’m still in Mom’s hug, breathing.
? ? ?
We walk to Mr. Ram’s remembrance gathering the next day. It’s hot and Mom wanted me to wear a light dress, but I wore pants. I need a pocket for the mini gummy bears pack that Muhammad gave me the other day.
Tats is wearing a long black skirt. When we near the community center, she stops and pulls a scarf out of her bag.
“For my head, for the Muslim prayers, you know,” she says, draping the scarf around her hair. Her bangs and braid peek out of the front and back. “I wanted to be respectful.”
I smile. “Mr. Ram’s Hindu. But you can keep your scarf on if you want.”
Ms. Kolbinsky and Sandra are sitting on a bench right outside the center.
Nuah’s by the door.
I walk over to say salaam, gummy bears in hand.
? ? ?
Afterward, on the way out, he tells me the one about the muffin. The one that made Mr. Ram Belly-Laugh smile.
Two muffins were sitting in the oven. One looks over at the other and says, “Man, it’s HOT in here!” The second one screams, “AHHH! A talking muffin!”
I laugh, because of the person who’s saying it. Nuah.
I’m having a Mr. Ram moment. That day when I left him alone in his apartment, he told me what the poet Rumi had said. That if you love the Divine, you can love everything, be kind to everyone, see someone’s joke the way they want you to.
I can’t imagine what it means to love everyone. But I’m just going to start right here, by loving a bit more of myself.
And maybe then the rest will follow.